so a fool repeats his folly
by nrynmrth
Summary: Alex has been out of the game for a while, but things are never that easy. For the 2019 holiday fic exchange prompt "I want to believe there is some good in you."


A/N: New year is in two hours where I am, so this is my last fic of 2019, wow! This is my response for SpyFest's holiday fic exchange, for which I received the prompt "I want to believe there is some good in you." Happy holidays, and to whoever submitted this prompt, I hope this fic lives up to your expectations!

Disclaimer: ...don't make me say it.

* * *

It's a lovely spring day—bright and sunny, fat clouds scudding across a brilliantly blue sky, but cool in the shadow of a large oak—as Alex sits down on the bench, hands tucked into his coat pockets to shield them from the early March breeze. He has spent weeks watching this park from this bench, and everything about this scene is as he expected: the children running and tripping over themselves eagerly in the grass, the pigeons pecking at each other in a nearby patch of sunlight.

"You're a hard man to find, Alex Rider." The voice comes from beside him. Alex doesn't move—doesn't even look over. Everything is as he expected, including this man. "We've been watching you," the man says when Alex doesn't reply. He rests his hands on the knees of his grey suit—the motion is as tailored as his clothes—and leans forward just a little, the picture of casual professionalism. "We'd like to make you an offer."

This is the turning point, this is what the two of them have been dancing toward for so many weeks, ever since that first day that Alex had felt the other man's eyes tracking him through London. This is what Alex has spent his whole life running with—sometimes toward and sometimes away, but always, always alongside—and now it has come to this.

The air around them seems to still; the shouts of the children fading away into nothingness.

"We?" Alex asks into the silence, and this is it, this is what they have been waiting for.

The man looks at him, cool and assessing. "The SIS," he says. "Her Majesty's secret service."

Alex fixes his eyes on the horizon and says flatly, "MI6."

The agent sits back. "Yes," he says quietly. He continues to look at Alex, gaze still calm, his eyes betraying nothing, and Alex feels faint approval bloom in his chest. _Not bad._

"Why?" A cold question.

The agent says, "Because I want to believe there is some good in you."

Somewhere inside him, a part of Alex wants to laugh hysterically. "'Good,'" he repeats with the barest hint of incredulity.

"That's what we do," the agent says—_states_—like it's a fact. "We protect the citizens of Britain." He says the words like the sentiment is a part of his very being, and Alex doesn't quite know whether it's a recruiting gimmick or whether the man actually, truly believes that.

"Are you a patriot, then, Mister—?" A flick of his eyes to the agent's earnest green ones reveals the answer.

"Williams," the agent completes. "With the work that we do in defence of the realm and its people…how can I not be?"

Again, that bizarre urge to laugh. Alex is far too jaded for this, but—

"Indeed," Alex murmurs—he plays along.

"Well, Mr Rider?" Williams asks after the silence stretches out between them. "Do you accept?"

Alex feels his lips twitch up again. "It strikes me, Mr Williams, that this isn't the sort of offer one rejects." He knows that only too well.

The agent smiles, shark-like. "Indeed," he echoes.

"Well, then," Alex says, and follows the agent when he stands.

-o-

His bloodstain is still there by the door of the Royal and General, a faint discolouration in the pavement. He had known it would be—it's been a year since he's seen the bank, but he hasn't forgotten that blood doesn't wash out of concrete—

He lets Williams guide him through the door and past the receptionist, fixing his eyes straight ahead and refusing to let them wander even as whispers begin to ripple through the lobby as they pass. The receptionist smiles at him as they cross the chequered tiles; Alex lets Williams smile back.

"We're going to meet the head of the agency," Williams explains once they enter the lift, and anticipation creeps up Alex's spine.

_"Fourteenth floor,"_ a cool, automated voice announces. Alex and Williams step out into a hallway, the thin carpet muffling their footsteps. They reach the office at the end of the floor; Williams knocks and enters when a voice bids him to do so, Alex following at his heels.

"Director," the agent says, but the familiar eyes behind the desk aren't looking at him.

"Hello, Agent Rider."

"It's Williams, actually, Director—"

"I wasn't speaking to you, Agent Williams," the director of MI6 says steadily, and Alex smiles faintly, the mirror to the smile Williams had offered him before—entirely threatening, a predatory flash of teeth.

"Hello, Jones. Nice to see you again."

Tulip Jones sits back in her chair and unwraps a peppermint. Alex shakes his head when she offers; he sees Williams do the same. She smiles at that.

"Have a seat, both of you, and Williams, close your mouth." They obey—there is no other option. "Very good."

Williams, Alex can tell is itching to ask questions, but keeps his mouth shut—Alex feels his respect for the other man tick up a notch—until Jones waves a hand at him.

"I beg your pardon, Director," the agent says and the formal tone and clipped speech are so like Crawley's that Alex knows beyond the shadow of a doubt who trained the other agent. "I must admit to some confusion—"

Jones arches an eyebrow at him, a study in cool amusement. "It seems, Agent Williams, that due to some gross oversight in our recruiting department, your superiors have managed to send you on a wild goose chase, if you'll pardon the vernacular." When her agent just continues to stare at her, Jones sighs. "Rider doesn't need to be recruited, Williams, because he already has been."

"Is that so," Alex murmurs. His voice is two shades too cold; a, vicious thing. _Recruitment_ doesn't begin to cover his history with this agency and the blank-faced woman across the desk.

The look Jones throws him is equally icy. "I'd have thought you were ready to come back by now."

"I was in retirement," Alex counters.

Jones' smile is razor-sharp and thin as a knife's blade. "You were on extended leave," she corrects. "And from Williams' reports, you don't seem to have forgotten much."

Alex learnt at fourteen what a lack of control over his emotions would cost him. The lesson serves him equally well now, at twenty. His voice doesn't so much as shake as he says, "Some lessons are hard to forget."

"You knew," Williams says then, and if Alex weren't so intent on the staring contest he's sharing with his (former) superior, he would have marvelled at the man's balls…Tulip Jones is not an easy person to interrupt. Neither, for that matter, is he. "You knew what I was recruiting you for."

"Yes." It is not even worth denying.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Williams continues.

"Call it…professional curiosity." Alex shrugs carelessly. "It took me two days to notice you watching me, not because I'm slipping, but because you're _good_, Williams. After that, well…I said I was retired. It didn't hurt to go through the proper channels this time."

"So you are ready to come back, then," Jones remarks, and it is the years Alex spent searching her face for any sign of emotion that show him the triumph lining her features.

It rankles, of course it does, but this is the price he pays for this life, because he doesn't know how to live any other way. He had known what his answer would be when he allowed Williams to lead him to the bank.

"I am," Alex tells her. "Clean bill of health came from St. Dom's a month ago; I was cleared for physical duty two days ago, as I'm sure Williams can attest, seeing as I led him on a merry chase through Chelsea."

The other agent's smile is a flash of teeth, too white and too wide. "Oh, definitely," he says through gritted teeth, and that miniscule, vindictive part of Alex laughs darkly.

"Well, then," Jones says, and her eyes are light as they meet his. "If you can keep up with Rider, I see no reason to keep you in recruitment any longer, Agent Williams—I'm authorising that transfer you requested a month ago, effective immediately. Crawley will tell you where to go."

To his credit, the agent barely reacts, just muttering a "Thank you, Director," and heading for the door, clearly sensing the dismissal.

The door closes behind him just as Alex stands. "Are we finished here, Jones?"

They both know it doesn't matter what she says; he's known her too long to take those kinds of orders anymore.

She says, "Almost. Daniels has an assignment in three days. I want you with him."

He agrees and turns to go, a faint warmth flickering in his chest at the thought of reuniting with his partner, but she stops him with a call of his name. He doesn't respond aloud, merely waiting, his back still towards her.

"Why?" she asks. "Why come back?"

"I asked your agent that," Alex says, a faint smile crossing his face. "He told me he wanted to believe there was some good in me. Maybe this is the only way I know how to prove him right."

* * *

Right, I feel like this needs some explanation, mainly because it confused _me_ while I was reading it, and _I wrote it._

Here's what's going on: Alex left MI6 a year ago for reasons unknown, although it's kind of implied that he had some sort of massive injury that required recovery in St. Dom's. Meanwhile, due to the inefficiency of MI6's lower branches and also the secret of Alex's existence, a recruiting agent is sent to watch him and recruit him to the agency...the problem being, of course, that Alex is already part of said agency. Of course, because he's unnecessary like that, Alex goes along with the charade up until he comes face to face with Jones, at which moment he becomes rather irritated, presumably because whatever happened to him that put him out of commission for a year was her fault.

OK. If you stuck with me through all that, thank you very much, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the year (however short it may be).

\- mara


End file.
